


Chicken Scratch

by Venturous



Series: There's Still Time [3]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Chickens, Healing, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Felina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/pseuds/Venturous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NOTE: this fic is now updated, complete and included in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4566828">There's Still Time</a></p><p> </p><p>this was something they had stopped expected: a chance to make it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Scratch

When he opened his eyes there was a blinding light, and Walt thought:  
_I’m still there._  
 And his vision swam into focus to find odd details like a rough stucco wall, huge vase of sunflowers on a table, and a view out over the bright desert landscape. Sage and saguaro dotted the hills, silvery blue mountains behind.  
Struggling to sit up, his arms were weak and trembling. The dry air filling his lungs, a twisting pain in his side, and warm tile when his feet touched the floor.  
_I’m alive._  
Looking around he found his glasses folded neatly on the side table, next to a glass of water. Walt pulled at the loose cotton shirt he was wearing and looked at his flank, where his recent wound looked surprisingly healed. He was seized with a sudden thirst. Carefully he adjusted his glasses, and blinked at the world, focusing, and drank the cool water.  
It was mid day, and his bed was on a tiled veranda, sheltered by a timbered roof. It looked to be a one-story stucco house surrounded by an arid yard, the porch defined by a row of stones and pots of herbs. A few chickens pecked about the gravel. There was an old wire fence a few dozen yards from the house, and scrub desert beyond.  
Walt saw a puff of dust appear and he followed it, apparently a vehicle drawing nearer. His heart sped up and his hands clenched the edge of the bed. He talked himself down: clearly whoever had brought him here had treated him with care.  
A woman stood in the doorway, eyes widening.  
“Señor! Por favor, usted debe descansar!”  
She was frozen, looked almost terrified of him. Walt was surprised how that pained him, that she was afraid. Surely he wasn’t much of a threat now?  
“Señor Pinkman viene aquí en un momento.”  
And she disappeared into the house.  
Jesse.  
Now Walt felt a wave of panic, bitter and sinking. Jesse. He was at his mercy, and he had a great deal to atone for. Why had Pinkman kept him alive? To repay him for the torment he endured? To extract revenge for the hit Walt had ordered? Well, there was no escape now. He heard the card door slam, and footsteps crunching the gravel.  
At that moment Walter White felt old and very frail. He thought about pretending he was still asleep but there was no time. Pinkman’s shadow fell across the tiles as he stepped into view, came closer, blocking the brightness of the day. Walt wasn’t breathing.  
“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”  
“Fine, well, weak, really, but amazingly okay. What… how?”  
Walt fumbled, his voice a croak.  
“Why…” he coughed. “Where are we?”  
“Señora Rosa, por favor traer agua” Jesse called.  
“Morelia, a little nowhere town. So, yeah, when Gus and Mike and I… after don Eladio’s we drove to this place, an old factory fixed up inside like a hospital, you know. We stayed there while Gus got stronger. This guy, Marco, was the doctor.“  
Jesse was looking at the floor. He pushed the hair out of his face and looked at Walt.  
“I was able to call him after, uh, when I needed to get you help. I figured it was best to get out of the country anyway, so, here we are.”  
Walter felt the intensity of his gaze and looked away.  
“I don’t remember much of anything, other than strange dreams.”  
“Yeah, well you were pretty sick, Mr. White. Delirious, like with a fever and stuff. Marcos he kept you pretty sedated.”  
Walter felt a bit faint. The woman appeared with a pitcher of water and another glass. He looked at her, her kind face.  
“Gracias, Señora.”  
“Rosa, por favor.” She smiled, nodding as she stepped away.  
Walt couldn't meet Pinkman’s eyes. He stared at his feet – Jesse wore worn pointed boots and jeans that were too big on him. His hair was still long, sandy and fine, covering half his face. His scarred face. Walter wanted to search that face, to see the scars, see that they had healed. But he was afraid to see the eyes, and the scars there.  
Afraid what he would find.  
They sat quietly for a time. In this isolated place, there was little to distract them. Chickens scratching. The shadow of a crow. The lack of conversation was inescapable.  
“How are you feeling? Can you stand?”  
Walt thought he could try, and he pushed up, wobbling. Jesse caught his arm and steadied him, and Walt looked up quickly into his face, catching the blue eyes, bright with concern.  
“Easy, Mr. White. “  
Walter straightened up and stood, willing himself steady.  
“Jesse, please. No more ‘Mr. White.’“  
“’Mr. Lambert?’” Jesse smiled.  
“Walt.” He whispered, “Call me Walt.”  
He looked into the Jesse’s eyes. The youthful look was gone, now, but for a moment he thought he saw a kindness there.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this far.  
> I would love concrit, and I could reeeeeealy use some help with the Spanish language parts. Rosa will appear in future episodes.


End file.
